Drift Stories/Hands Off the Merchandise

⚠	This story is a work in progress.

Ilyar sat on the corner of the bar, nursing a glass of brandy in one hand and cradling his head in the other. On the stool beside him sat Bentley, resting their head gently against his arm.

“I’m bored out of my mind here, captain,” Bentley grumbled, kicking their boots against the bar. “When do we get out in the Drift again? The ship’s probably forgotten me by now.”

Ilyar shot a glance out across the mostly empty bar. The pink-purple glow of the Drift bled softly in through the windows at the far end. It had been almost a month since they arrived back at the Cloud Archipelago, and despite his best efforts he had yet to find any jobs worth taking. He looked down at the raccoon, who was now spinning on the barstool. “Where are Solivane and Quartz?”

“Quartz is down on the promenade, something about a new sidearm? Sol is—“ Bentley stopped spinning facing the door. “—here.”

Solivane strode towards them, immaculate white robes drifting gracefully behind them, and dropped an envelope on the bar in front of Ilyar. “This was delivered to the ship. The messenger was most insistent that you read it immediately.”

Ilyar opened the envelope and extracted a carefully folded origami hare. Before he could unfold it, it fluttered gracefully onto the bar and began hopping around with a trail of purple sparkles. Bentley stared at it with unconcealed glee. After a few hops and a rather impressive somersault, the hare flattened itself out into a small square letter with an ornate gilded edge and glistening purple script. Ilyar picked it up and began to read.

Captain Ilyar of the Stationary Traveller, Your presence is most humbly requested this evening in the High Spire Hall. I have a matter of the utmost importance to discuss. Come with discretion, and bring your officers.

The letter was signed with the seal of the Cloud Archipelago, and a large handwritten signature: Kyrie.

“Officers? There’s only us!” laughed Bentley. “Who is this Kyrie? Beautiful penwork, whoever they are.”

Solivane cleared their throat. “Kyrie is the closest thing the Cloud Archipelago has to a leader. She controls most of the arms trade across the charted Drift.” They looked out the far windows at the shimmering purple. “We shall either leave with a job to do, or in body bags.”

Ilyar drained the last of his brandy, flicked a few shiny silver marks into the empty glass, and stood. “Well then, we shouldn’t keep her waiting. Sol, fetch Quartz and meet us back at the ship; we ought to make a good impression.”

***

The glass-walled elevator car made its way slowly up the side of the High Spire, the luxurious crown perched atop the Cloud Archipelago’s expanse. Inside, the four members of the Stationary Traveller’s crew stood waiting. Though they tried not to show it, the tension was palpable.

Ilyar, his grey-brown fur brushed smooth and the brass buttons on his coat shining, fixed his gaze on the soft glow of the Drift outside. Bentley stood to his side, running their fingers through the fur on his arms in an attempt to soothe their anxiety. Solivane, meanwhile, was explaining the etiquette of meeting an arms dealer feared across the Multiverse to Quartz, whose golden-brown ears were twitching with excitement.

"Let the captain do the talking. Speak only when you are spoken to, and always address her as 'Lady Kyrie'," Solivane explained, adjusting their robes to geometric perfection.

Bentley looked round. "Really? Are we meeting a merchant or a god?"

"On this driftstation Kyrie may as well be a god, Bentley," said Solivane sharply, "Please do not let your big mouth get us into trouble." Bentley winked conspiratorially and made a zipping motion across their mouth.

Quartz smoothed down her ears with a paw; they sprang straight back up. "Everyone on the station knows who she is, but very few ever get to meet her. We're lucky, I guess. Lucky, or in a lot of trouble."

The elevator car came to a smooth stop, dinged, and the doors slid open almost silently. "Stick close," said Ilyar, stepping forward into the lobby.

This was a very different place from the utilitarian grime of the station promenade. A deep red strip of carpet ran over the black marble floor from the elevator to a grand set of stained-wood doors on the far side, flanked by two ermine guards with pristine white fur. Ilyar strode confidently across the carpet, his crew following; Bentley kept tight by his side, always a step behind. In practised form the guards pushed open the huge doors as they approached.

Inside the red carpet continued, flanked by colonnades of glittering black marble. One side of the grand office was a continuous wall of glass, looking out on the shimmering pink-purple majesty of the Drift. Ilyar and his crew walked up the avenue of columns, at the far end of which was a great table of pure white stone. Behind it, reclined on a chaise-longue and watching their progress intently, was the slender figure of a female dolphin. As they approached she stood, her emerald green dress flowing resplendently over her body and onto the floor. She fixed Ilyar with a steely gaze as he came to a stop a short distance from the table, flanked by his crew.

“Captain Ilyar, I presume,” she intoned in a voice much louder and more imposing than her frame suggested. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to the High Spire.”

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Kyrie,” Ilyar replied solemnly, and he bent over his arm into a deep bow. Solivane and Quartz did likewise; Bentley, briefly distracted by the view from the window, snapped back to attention and joined them.

Kyrie snapped her fingers, and the ermines by the door stood sharply to attention. “Leave us. No visitors.” At that the guards hurried from the room; the great doors closed behind them with a definite click, and Kyrie returned her gaze to Ilyar, her serious expression breaking into a disarming smile.

“Formalities over, folks. Relax, please. One in my position has to keep up appearances, you understand.” She gestured towards a circle of pouffes by the window. “Make yourselves comfortable. We have much to discuss.”

They settled down on the pouffes; Bentley sat cross-legged on one, their attention returning to the view. “I never get tired of looking out there, it’s so beautiful…”

“Nor do I,” added Kyrie softly, a hint of sadness in her voice. She gazed out the window along with Bentley. “The endless expanse of the Drift calls to the wanderer in us. You are lucky, friends, to be able to venture into it. Sometimes this station feels so suffocating.” Her eyes turned back to Ilyar. “‘Friends’. I hope I am not being too presumptuous.”

Ilyar smiled. “We’re always glad to make a new friend.” He looked at each of his crew in turn. “Solivane, my navigator.” Solivane bowed their head politely, adjusting their robes. “Quartz, my… everything else. She’s new, we haven’t settled on a role for her yet.” Quartz gave a small salute, stifling a giggle. Ilyar looked finally at Bentley, adoration in his eyes. “And Bentley, my engineer, my helm, and my Engine.” Bentley moved swiftly over to Ilyar’s side and sat on the floor by his leg, beaming with pride.

Kyrie smiled at the sight, leaning back into her pouffe. “A pair of bonded seam-walkers is a beautiful thing to behold. Anchor and Engine in perfect harmony.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I am not gifted with the art, however much I would like to be, but…” She glanced around the palatial office. “… I have cut another path through the Drift, perhaps just as dangerous.”

Solivane cleared their throat. “Lady Kyrie, I understand there is a matter you wished to discuss.”

Nodding, Kyrie stood up and walked over to the window. “My people have been observing you during your stay here on the Cloud Archipelago. You seem a capable crew for a small… errand I require.” With a wave of her hand, the space inside the circle of pouffes burst into a cloud of glittering green particles, which coalesced into a holographic map of the charted Drift. Two points floated up from the mass of detail; one the Cloud Archipelago, the other a seam far away near the edge.

“I have a freight consignment that urgently needs to move from here—“ She pointed at the tiny Cloud Archipelago, “—to there,” Her hand moved across the map to the seam, “Passenger-382-C. It is a more pleasant reality than its designation suggests. Stable. Beautiful sunsets.”

Ilyar nodded, staring into the shimmering map. “What is the cargo?”

“The smart captain does not ask,” Kyrie said quietly. “It will pose no danger to you or your ship, I promise. The Guild, however, will certainly take an interest. I will have a suitable cloaking system installed on your ship,” She looked into Ilyar’s eyes, a faint smile on her lips. “If, of course, you accept.”

“What about payment?” Quartz asked. Solivane glared at her, a sudden panic in their eyes, but Kyrie laughed. “Business-minded. I like that. Fifty thousand marks, plus expenses. There will be plenty more work for you if you want it. My books are busy.”

Bentley’s eyes went wide. “Fifty thousand? Captain, that could buy a fleet! We could refit the ship! Refurbish the crew quarters! En-suite bathrooms!”

Ilyar chuckled and ruffled Bentley’s neck scruff, turning his attention back to Kyrie with a smile. “We accept. I will make preparations to depart immediately.”

Kyrie raised a finger and, slipping back over to the great table, retrieved an ornate glass bottle and a set of crystal tumblers from a drawer. The deep purple liquid in the bottle shimmered and glowed softly, as if mimicking the Drift itself. “You depart tomorrow. Please, stay for a while tonight.” She poured each of them a glass from the bottle. Ilyar sniffed at the liquid; it smelled herbal, with a hint of lavender, and a heady alcoholic tang that made his nose tingle.

Kyrie sat back down with her glass and raised it, a broad smile across her face. “To a job well done.” Ilyar, Bentley, Solivane and Quartz clinked their glasses against hers. “And to new friends,” Bentley added, sipping their glass and breaking into a coughing fit from its sheer potency. “Quite right,” Kyrie laughed.